Diplomat's Son
by papernoted
Summary: Glinting green eyes, quick-witted, and with megaphone in hand, it isn't amidst heads of state and foreign ministers that he first sees her, but rather from behind bars, in UN custody minutes after her arrest; five feet tall, shoeless, and furious. AU SasuSaku NaruSaku


**Summary:** Glinting green eyes, quick-witted, and with megaphone in hand, it isn't amidst heads of state and foreign ministers that he first sees her, but rather from behind bars, in UN custody minutes after her arrest; five feet tall, shoeless, and furious. [AU] [SasuSaku] [NaruSaku]

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Naruto.

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**Diplomat's Son**

Chapter 1

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Sakura let the fingers on her left hand tap against the surface of her clipboard, her right hand moving to smooth the wrinkles in her suit-skirt. The toe of her left foot dug itself into the carpet idly behind her before Sakura caught herself, pointedly drawing her foot out from behind her to neatly rejoin her right.

The air was abuzz with anticipation. She eyed Naruto from across the lobby; he'd been standing at the base of the right staircase, his mouth tight and eyes searching before alighting when he caught sight of her. Sakura smiled faintly, lifting to grasp her collar in what she hoped was a subtle thumbs-up, before moving to take starting position. They were all nervous—there was no question what they were about to do was _very_ illegal.

Glancing to her left, Sakura was startled to find a camera crew starting towards her, and turning reflexively to her right, registered at least five other members of the press conspicuously idling in the hallway.

'_They're going to blow our cover!'_ Sakura anxiously wrung her wrists; the plenary hall doors were only a few paces away, and the UN police were starting to move, eyes darting and hands moving to their walkie-talkies. The lobby was about eight times too congested. Someone had tipped off the press. She was a pink-haired nineteen year old standing dead centre, holding a just barely concealed megaphone.

It was now or never.

Reaching into her purse to grasp the handle, she drew it out as smoothly as she could, holding it up into the air and blared the cue.

An instant later the swarms of delegates, NGO representatives and UN observers erupted, moving to unveil signs while spouting chants of protest. Receding and welling, the screams rang both in Sakura's ears and in the soles of her shoes, thrumming through her body and willing a scream from her chest and into the air.

"Who are the major historical emitters? The Uchiha Agenda backs dirty oil corporation politics!"

Though the mass of protestors was so densely packed she couldn't make out the person two paces in front of her, a chorus met her from all around, and as her hand found the handle a second time, she felt her anxiety dissolve into a spell of angry words from her lip of her megaphone.

But then, Naruto was calling somewhere to her left, and whipping herself to face him, Sakura reached, fingers grazing his through the crowd—slipping once, twice—before grasping for purchase and drawing his form towards her.

"Saku—" Naruto rasped against her ear laboriously, prompting Sakura to marvel at just how he'd managed to reach her, "They're making arrests and revoking accreditation."

Her curiosity dissipating, "What?" she probed. Pressed solidly against his front, she couldn't see much beyond the starchy lines of his dress shirt. "From which end? I can't see—lift me!"

He seemed to pause, before linking his fingers and leaning down to offer her the makeshift platform he'd formed with his hands. Boosting her up, Sakura scrambling to grasp his shoulders and peer up above the crowd. The sheer sight made the air in her lungs leave with a rush.

"Saku, you alright up there?"

"I'm fine—it's just—wow, there has to be 500 people here!"

"How many press?" Naruto mumbled, apparently getting a face full of her own shirt.

Moving to hold the back of his neck, Sakura squinted, eyes running their way across the crowd, settling on one… four… eight…

"There are at least ten film cameras—I mean, I can't make out the photographers, but—there's Reuters!"

Albeit faintly delayed, Naruto chuckled. "Of all the things to get excited about—Reuters? Really?"

Sakura pinched his shoulder, smiling—"I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable. Here, let me get onto your shoulders. And yes, Reuters. We've got our cover story. Mission accomplished."

She could feel another smile forming through the shirt across her stomach as he made to manoeuver her in his arms up onto his shoulder. Glancing upwards, intending to see just how much moving space she had before her forehead met the underside of the lobby balcony, Sakura was startled to find herself staring into a pair of perturbed dark eyes.

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"Mr. Uchiha, sir, a message from your father on line 4."

Sasuke briefly glanced up from his desk in the secretariat's office to acknowledge their redheaded secretary before swivelling in his chair to grasp the phone. Coiling a red lock around her finger, the secretary smiled coyly and nudged her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "He said it was urgent."

"Thank you, Karin," Sasuke spoke conclusively, eyeing her in cue to leave.

Bowing lowly before moving slowly to the door, she paused, hand on the doorknob, airily saying: "It was a pleasure, sir."

Staring after her before running a hand through his dark, dishevelled hair, Sasuke dismissively moved to dial into his father, lifting the handset to meet the side of his head.

Though Karin's family had been supplying Uchiha Corporation with secretaries for as long as Sasuke could remember, Karin had only recently taken up assignment as his personal secretary, courtesy of his father. Her presence had been unnerving: lingers in his office, unrelenting stares, and incessant advances—though not completely unattractive, she was irritating; _annoying._

Though he'd hadn't explicitly complained to his father on the matter, the Uchiha head had regarded the expression that crossed his son's face when he'd mentioned the girl stating, _'The Ushiyoto Clerical Group are a loyal few. You would do well to heed my recommendations.'_

"Sasuke?" a firm voice spoke on the other end, interrupting his thoughts, "My meeting with the secretariat has run late. Head on to the Baobab Plenary—Kakashi will be there to meet you. Take up any loose ends in the meantime."

"Understood. Thank you, fath—"

The dial tone rang back in answer.

Placing the phone back onto its receiver, Sasuke lifted from his chair, grasped his briefcase, ran a hand down the front of his suit pants and moved to the office door. Cold as the exchange with his father had been, after four years of being pronounced merely _a contender_ for the position of Uchiha Corporation successor, it had been a mannerism he'd been familiar with.

His father believed in progress and in his world, '_please_'s and '_thank you_'s constituted trivial and potentially costly pleasantries. _You are not guaranteed any inheritance, Sasuke. If you are to become my successor, you need to embrace the industry for what it is._

To the best of his knowledge, he'd been an only child. How he was not guaranteed the full of his parents' inheritance eluded him entirely. Gritting his teeth and willing himself to both curb his anger and slow his strides, Sasuke departed the office and signalled a taxi.

Pulling up beside the curb, the taxi yielded and he'd grasped the door handle, swung the door open and sidled himself inside. "International Convention Centre," he'd worded to the driver, and grasped his phone from where it was in his pocket.

"That might be a little tricky—hope you don't mind me wheeling you in through the back entrance—there's a demonstration in the main lobby. Everything's blocked off."

Sasuke froze from where he'd been glazing over the series of work-related texts in his pockets, bracing the seat in front of him to force out a, "What?"

"There's a protest. It's been going for at least twenty minutes—something like 600 people. UN Police moved in; it's getting ugly."

Sasuke marvelled: _Twenty minutes to gather 600 people? _"The back entrance is fine." Resting back in his seat and immediately looking up any trace of media coverage on the event, he was surprised to uncover a stream of headlining articles already posted:

_Nineteen-Year-Old Girl Cues Protest That Rocks United Nations_

_Twenty-four Arrests and Counting!_

_Half a Thousand Gather to Protest Uchiha Corporation Politics_

Sasuke reeled—hitting the third link to survey the news story. His eyes glanced down the column, straining to make out the words on his cell phone screen. _'Sakura Haruno, nineteen-year-old sophomore and diplomatic assistant to the Honourable Tsunade Senju, captured here leads the uprising against Uchiha Corporation.'_ The image was neatly cropped to deliver a close up of her face, barely visible from behind a megaphone, and little else. Take up any loose ends—did this constitute a loose end? Did his father know about this? How would he handle this?

"We've arrived, sir." Sasuke glanced up, startled to find they were already at the back entrance of the convention centre. A series of columns stood, with a small door situated in between the two centre columns.

"Hn." Nodding, swiping his company card to pay, he exited on the left side, briefcase in hand, and jogged his way up the steps.

Entering through an empty meeting hall, he made his way through the rows of the empty chairs towards the entrance, and was met with sounds of chorusing crowds in the distance. Picking up his pace, he moved past a series of exhibition booths, winding his way through briskly, before exiting the exhibition centre onto the upper level of the Convention Centre lobby.

There were spectators all around but, edging his way in between a woman with a dark haired woman and a pair of photographers taking aerial shots of the scene below, Sasuke grasped the balcony edge and leaned over.

What should have been the entrance to the Baobob Plenary a level down was instead replaced with a mob of twenty-something's screaming in protest. His eyes flitted back and forth from above before snaring on the pink-haired crown of a girl. She couldn't have been older than fourteen at most, Sasuke rationed, but he incredulously watched her clamber onto the shoulders of a man at the heart of the protest.

"How…" Sasuke thought aloud, before the girl wavered mid-air, glanced upward and froze, eyes wide, when her green eyes met his. He registered her identity the instant she had his.

This pipsqueak was Sakura Haruno, and she was after him and his father.

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To be Continued

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**A/N:** Please comment. Questions, comments, encouragement—all appreciated,

papernoted


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